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OUR '^^ 







ROLL OF HONOR. 



BY 



JOHN FORRESTER DEVERBJ&X, 



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OUR 



ROLL OF HONOR. 



BY 



JOHN FORRESTER DEVEREUX. 



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West. I-&8. Htet;. Bbc. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, 

BY MRS. M. C. D. SILSBEE, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



"Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona 
Multi ; sed omnes illacrimabiles 
Urgentur ignotique longa 

Nocte, carent quia vate sacro. 

" PAullum sepultae distat inertiae 
Celata virtus. Non ego te meis 
Chartis inornatum silebo 
Totve tuos patiar labores 

" Impune, , carpere lividas 

Obliviones " 

Horace, Lib. IV. Carm. ix. 




OUR ROLL OF HONOR. 




EN live who fill the honored lives they pass 
On earth with service of their fellow-men ; 
Who gild Time's sands, outpouring from 
his glass, 
And freely proffer, asking naught again ; 
Who gather wisdom that they may bestow 
Such knowledge as no measuring hand may gauge, 
And garner truths the onward path to show 
To ardent youth, when they are chilled in age. 
When such men die, the world will bow the head 
And sigh that years must lead to sure decay. 
And pay fit tribute to the ripely dead 
Whose useful lives have passed in peace away, 
While grateful millions sculptured marble raise 
To those who toiled for man through the allotted days. 



And men there are who dare to die for man 
And give their own that others' lives may be ; 



Proud to exchange this mortal Hfe's short span, — 
These present hours, for immortahty ; 
Who seal their faith in what so many doubt 
By meeting death which all too many dread, — 
Whose strong right hand this glorious truth points out, 
" The dead to earth are not the truly dead." 
When such men die, the world will raise its eyes 
In firmer faith to the high goal of Heaven, 
And strong conviction, crowning glad surmise. 
Proclaims that life beyond this world is given. 
Although their names may grace no sculptured scroll. 
Each grateful human heart shall hold the glorious roll. 



FREDERICK W. LANDER, 

Brigadier-General of Volunteers ; wounded at Ball's Bluff, Md., 
October 22, 1861 ; died in consequence of his wounds. 

Slowly and sadly floats upon the air 
The sobbing music ending in a wail ; 
Slowly and sadly, with grief-measured tread 
And arms reversed, his comrades bring their dead ; 
Slowly and sadly to the grave they bear 
His senseless form so cold and still and pale. 
Deep folds of heavy crape 



Their drooping colors drape, 
Whose sombre weight defies the efforts of the gale. 

In well-earned rest his laurelled sword is lying 
Upon the pall that shrouds him from our sight ; 
Slowly and sadly the long train moves on, — 
Slowly and sadly dim eyes rest upon 
The hat and plume, — and faithful soldiers sighing 
Know them as his who always led the fight, — 

Whose brown cheek never paled, 

When others shrank and quailed. 

Slowly and sadly roll the muflfled drums. 

The Dead March loads the listening air with woe ; 

Along the streets each bended head is bare, 
And sorrowing hearts and pitying eyes are there, 
Where through the crowd that long procession 

comes, 
And seeks the waiting grave with weary footsteps 
slow ; 

The tide of life gives way 

Before his senseless clay. 
Hushed to such silence as men rarely know. 

The rattling volley fired above his grave 
Is past, — its echoes die upon their ears ; 



8 

His sorrowing comrades hearken to the prayer 
In solemn accent lowly uttered there 
Above the soldier who in life was brave, 
Whose early death has filled their eyes with tears, 

And sighing turn away 

To the stern duties of the day, 
To strive for deeds like his through the remaining 
years. 



WILLIAM ROSS, 

Private Co. I, 8th Mass. Vol. Infantry, April 17 to August i, 1861 ; 
1st Sergt. Co. — , 19th Mass. Vol. Infantry ; killed at Antietam, Va., 
September 17, 1862. 

White as the snow of the mountains 

That tower above our land ; 
Red as the blush of the dawning, 

When the day god is at hand ; 
Blue as the sky of a still night 

When Nature her robe doth grace 
With jewels that flash in the clear light 

And gleam through her frostwork lace ; 
Studded with stars of silver 

As bright as those that wait 



On the moon as she climbs her steep way 

From heaven's eastern gate, 
Were their colors gently waving 

On the cool, fresh autumn air. 
That was laden with many a blessing, 

Burdened with many a prayer. 

He stood beneath those colors 

By our Northern breeze caressed ; 

He in those prayers was prayed for. 
In those blessings he was blessed. 

In the dust of their long, long marches 

That white its whiteness lost, 
Dim grew its deep red's brightness 

In the breath of battle tossed ; 
On their field of blue now faded 

The tarnished stars still shine. 
The boast, the pride, and the glory 

Of that decimated line. 
Where the fight had been the fiercest, 

That war-worn flag had led ; — 
Where the heaps of dead were highest. 

Its guardians fought and bled ; 
Its torn and bloodstained splendor 

Told for them a noble story ; 



lO 

In each tatter men might read 

Somie record of their glory. 
It was hoUer far, and dearer, 

As a torn and smoke-stained rag. 
To the eyes and hearts of the fond ones, 

Who watched the Nineteenth's flag. 



He proudly stood beneath it 

As it rose in Southern air ; 
He would gladly die to guard it 

As it fluttered, shot-torn, there. 
From the land of the Pilgrim fathers. 

Where first its folds were spread. 
To old Virginia's war-fields. 

Whose soil with blood was red. 
It had waved in the winds of heaven 

That sighed o'er a war-cursed earth. 
Where her angry sons were fighting 

On the land which gave them birth. 
It had waved to shouts of victory, 

Drooped sadly in retreat, 
But it never knew dishonor. 

Or fell at a foeman's feet. 
One after another its bearers 

Had sunk in its shadow and died. 



II 

But ere it had fallen above them 

Fresh hands seized their peril and pride. 
That flag had flaunted o'er them 

Through sunshine and through storm, 
When wintry winds were bitter, 

When summer's suns were warm ; 
Their comrades died beneath it 

As die the true and brave, 
It had fanned their fitful slumbers, 

It had drooped above their grave. 
His was one of the many 

Low mounds beneath its shade, 
He was one of the heroes 

That love for the torn flag made. 



12 



HENRY MERRITT, 

Lieutenant-Colonel 23d Mass. Vol. Infantry, October 24, 1861 ; 
killed at Newbern, N. C, March 14, 1862. 

Newbern ! full many a face will flush 
At mention of thy fateful name ; 
A thousand thronging memories rush, 
And each a quicker heart-throb claim 
In many a breast, and many an eye 
Grow brighter as the heart beats high. 
Newbern ! full many a face will pale 
And many an eye fill fast with tears. 
As memory lifts Time's softening veil 
That thickens with the passing years. 
Recalling still the blood and flame 
That reddens and lights up thy name. 
Newbern ! thy name will ever be 
A spell to move the hearts of men. 
Till time shall touch eternity 
And all of earth shall fade, — till then 
Thy name shall speak to mortal ears 
Of pride, of triumph, and of tears. 

Newbern ! the name with pride is fraught 
To many a one who still recalls 



13 

The scenes through which he toiled and fought 

To reach and win thy earthwork walls, — 

Scenes near to him while life shall last 

And fancy picture forth the past ; 

With pride for having known and shared 

The toil and danger of the day, 

When toward the town they won and spared 

They sternly fought their deadly way, 

Through swamp and forest struggling on, 

Until the glorious deed was done. 

O lost and won ! o'er many a hearth 

A lengthened shadow fell from thee ; 

A darkness gloomed on many a path 

Till then from death's cold presence free. 

Newbern ! to such thou must recall 

Their life's stay fallen through thy fall ; 

Yet love shall light the mournful eye, 

Making a rainbow on the tears, — 

The dead to them shall never die, 

But consecrate the holy years, 

While History graves the honored name 

Of soldier on the roll of fame. 



14 



CHARLES F. WILLIAMS, 

Corporal Co. I, 8th Mass. Vol. Infantry, April 17 to August i, 1861 ; 
Second Lieutenant 35th Mass. Vol. Infantry, August 12, 1862 ; 
wounded at Antietam, Va., September 17, 1862; died September 22, 
1862. 

So quiet, so modest, so cheerful. 

So patient, so faithful, so kind ; 
For the sorrows of others so tearful. 

To his own so manfully blind ; 
He smiled as he went to his duty. 

But sighed that his comrades must go, — 
That smile with its pitiful beauty 

Lit his face with its eloquent glow. 
When the toils of the soldier were greatest 

For danger, privation, unrest, 
The sigh from his lips was the latest 

And lowest and soonest represt ; 
He would meet his own trials and labors. 

And his eye be untroubled and clear, 
But the weakness and wants of his neighbors 

Could call to his eyelids a tear. 
His touch was as gentle and tender 

As woman's when earnest to soothe ; 
He knew how such service to render. 

The pathway of others to smooth. 



15 

When his comrades were worn and weary, 

Exhausted, discouraged, and sad. 
His comforting words were as cheery 

As the smile on his lips was glad. 

Through the fields where the harvest was ready 

And ripe for the reaper's hook. 
Whose wind-born waves, unsteady, 

Like a golden ocean look, 
Over fair Maryland's hills, 

Along Antietam's shore. 
Fast troops on every hand 

In lengthened column pour. 
The sun has left the sky, 

The stars shine clear and bright. 
And troops still hurry by 

To march into the night. 
The dawn lights up the east, 

Night's sable fades away. 
But the march has hardly ceased 

When the dawn has grown to day. 
Clouds veil the morning's face 

And sweep across the sky, 
Pale mists down the hillsides race 

Before the light wind's sigh ; 
Blue and cold is the gleam 

Of the steel of the hostile ranks 



i6 

That drink of the rushing stream 

And crowd its high, steep banks. 
The flash of the skirmisher's fire 

Far up on the bkie Une's right, 
As the gray-clad ranks draw nigher 

Has lightened the gloom of night. 
And the tempest of war bursts forth 

In a storm of shell and shot 
That hurtles and screams o'er the trembling earth 

Till the lips of the guns grow hot. 
The single shriek of the dead, 

The wounded's curse and groan, 
Comes sharp through the smoke that curls o'erhead 

Where the flash of the musketry shone. 

When the day was nearly done. 

And the sun was low in the west, — 
When the bloody field was won 

And the turmoil hushed to rest, — 
Antietam's banks were bloody, 

Antietam's stream was red. 
Its once clear waters muddy, 

And cumbered with the dead. 
Far in the van of the battle, 

Where the slain were thickly strowed. 
Deaf to the river's prattle. 

Whose dark waves near them flowed, 



17 

Blind to the blaze of the sunset 

That crimsoned the western sky, 
He lay with those who had first met 

Their fate, who were first to die ; 
He lay where the bravest were lying. 

Where the noblest lives were spent, 
The smile on his lips when dying 

Broadened to calm content. 



JOHN SAUNDERS, 

Captain ist Company of Sharpshooters, Mass. Vols., 1861 ; killed at 
Antietam, Va., September 17, 1862. 

Like the lightning that heralds the coming storm 

And shows from afar the threatened path. 
Where the gathering clouds in black ranks form, 

Ere they rush on their errand of mercy and wrath,. 
Was the flash of the guns whose aim was death 

When they lit with the glare of a fitful flame 
Stern War's grim front, ere the blasting breath 

Of the tempest of wrath in its fury came. 
As instant and fatal its power could reach 

The victim it sought, as the lightning finds 
Its fated mark when the thunder's speech 

Is swift on the track of the flash that blinds. 



i8 

The work they must do in the awful sweep 

Of the billows of war across our land 
Calls forth to life the powers that sleep 

Through most men's Kfe in heart and hand. 
The cheek must never be pale with fear, 

The soul must be firm as the rocks of our shore, 
Whose granite piles rise tall and sheer 

Where the heaviest waves of the ocean roar. 
The foremost roll of the coming tide 

Knows check nor pause in the onward flow ; 
The mass behind more deep and wide 

Will bring with its flood fear's undertow. 

And nobly he led where to lead but seemed 

To show the way to a waiting grave ; 
:He led as he leads who never dreamed 

Of a duty too stern for the cool and brave. 
The fate for whose horrors he knew no fear 

Was his ere many months had passed ; 
It darkened his eye and closed his ear 

To the sights and sounds of this world at last. 
;He laid on the altar at which he kneeled 

A true, brave life as an oflering meet, 
And the strength of his heart to the world revealed 

The courage which measured its even beat. 



19 



WILLIAM SWASEY, 

Private Co. I, 8th Mass. Vol. Infantry, April 17 to August i, 1861 ; 
afterwards an officer and killed in battle. 

Our city sits by the sea, 

Looks forth on the changeful tide 
Of ocean gray with clouds of spray 

When the gates of the storm are wide. 
Our city sits by the sea 

And watches the ships sail by, 
And thinks of the fleet that at her feet 

Once rode, with a long, low sigh. 



Our city sits by the sea. 

Veiled by a silvery haze. 
While ocean mild, like a tired child, 

Sleeps through the summer days. 
Our city sits by the sea, 

But her eyes are on the sand ; 
She hears no roar as the roused waves pour 

Their weight on the trembHng land. 



20 

She thinks of the sound the wind, 

As it came from the far South, bore — 
On its viewless wing, in that long-past spring — 

The cannon's echoing roar. 
She hears again the cry 

Of sorrow, of shame, of rage, 
That rose on high to the bending sky 

And welcomed their battle-gage. 



She sees again her streets 

Astir, as her sons prepare 
For the awful field, as that stern cry pealed 

From their lips on the chill spring air. 
She hears again the drum 

As it rolls, and the shrill-voiced fife, 
She hears again the martial strain 

That roused to the coming strife. 

She looks in dim vision where 

The nation's banners wave 
While brave men swear, where swords are bare, 

The nation's life to save. 
She feels the human tide 

That is stirred to its lowest deep 
By a storm of war that is wilder far 

Than such as the ocean sweep. 



21 

She thinks, as the murmuring waves 

Roll up on the shelving shore 
In endless race, of many a face 

That she shall greet no more. 
She seems to hear again 

The laugh of their boyish glee, 
As they played with the tide of the ocean wide, 

And sang their songs of the sea. 

She thinks how her hopes had grown 

As she watched those boys grow tall. 
Till men were they, she had seen at play 

Where the salt waves rise and fall. 
She thinks how she joyed to know 

Young hearts and arms were strong 
To do and dare, to suffer and bear. 

In all she had loved so long." 

Our city sits by the sea, 

And dreams of days bygone. 
Recalls each face of manly grace. 

And his, of those faces, is one. 
But she lifts her eyes again, 

And looks on sea and strand, 
And hears the waves, and counts the graves 

That ridge both sea and land. 



22 

And one of those graves is his 

For whose face she looks in vain ; 
She gazed and knew that her dream was true, 

With all its glory and pain. 
And she turns once more to the sea, 

While her eyes are dim with tears, 
To dream again by the changeful main 

Of all the vanished years. 



SETH BUXTON, 

Captain 14th Mass. Vol. Infantry, July 5, 1861 ; Major, December 
31, 1862; died at Fort Albany, near Washington, D. C, January 
15, 1863. 

WouLDST know his story ? See that still white face 

Wearing the pallor worn but by the dead, 
Mark the cold stare that now usurps the place 

In those glazed eyes whence the soul's light has 
fled ; 
Feel for the heart once throbbing with the tide 

Of hot blood coursing through that manly form. 
No firm beat now will thrust your hand aside. 

The instant start to quicken and to warm. 
Would you had seen that pale face when alive, 



23 

With the expression borrowed from his heart ! 
No traces now of those high thoughts survive, 
Of which self-interest formed so small a part. 

Your eyes are resting on the hat and plume 

That with the sword are lying on the pall, 
Among the flowers that brighten up the gloom 

Of velvet folds that from the coffin fall. 
Yes ! a brave soldier, dead beneath the weight 

Of armor snatched to meet his country's call, 
Dead in the struggle to avert the fate 

That threatened long to overwhelm us all. 
The heart which now is still beneath thy hand 

Was quick to feel the impulse of the brave ; 
Full of devotion to his native land, 

To its stern needs his noble life he gave. 

Nor was that all : his great warm heart was filled 

With love for those who all his love returned ; 
Until its beating by grim Death was stilled, 

The flame of home-love in his bosom burned ; 
The true respect of all the circle wide 

That read his life, his life had earned for him ; 
A deeper feeling on the day he died 

Made those who knew him look through eyes 
grown dim. 



24 

Respect had grown to something warmer far, 

And those who saw him gird his armor on 
And join the ranks fast mustering for the war 

Felt how his worth upon their hearts had won. 
He left behind him all he hoped on earth, 

To do a duty he would fain forego ; 
No wild ambition in his soul gave birth 

To hopes of glory won through human woe. 

The simple story of a brave, true man, 

A noble soldier faithful to his trust, 
Whose will to do his failing strength outran, 

And what he did returned him here, — to dust. 
Fold back the shroud upon that pale, still face ; 

Replace again the heavy velvet pall ! 
He lies there dead, — dead for the human race, 

Dead on the field of honor for us all. 



25 



WILLIAM H. PRIME, 

Private Co. F, 23d Mass. Vol. Infantry, September 28, 1861 ; Act- 
ing Hospital Steward, May 8, 1862 ; received warrant as Hospital 
Steward, U. S. Army, 1863. During the fearful ravages of the 
yellow fever at Newbern, N. C, in 1864, he was zealously work- 
ing at his post, but at last fell a victim to the disease, September 
28, 1864. 

A GORGEOUS robe of brilliant dyes 

Conceals the skeleton of war, 
And reason, captive through the eyes, 

Forgetteth to abhor. 
Nor looks beyond the outer show 

To find the hideous shape below. 
The flash of swords, the gleam of arms, 

Where feathers toss and standards wave. 
War's pomp and stir, are potent charms 

To woo the living to the grave. 
And cold is he whose heart is still 

When sights like these his vision fill. 

Where grinned the skeleton of war. 

Stripped bare of all that charms the eyes, 

With ghastly skull and fleshless jaw. 
Denuded of all bright disguise, — 

There, where no martial fame is won, 
A patient, faithful work was done. 



26 

There one with all a soldier's fire 

And all a soldier's love of fame, 
With courage such as might aspire 

To compass all a soldier's aim, 
Gave up what soldiers covet most. 

To fill the soldier's hardest post. 

Although no wreath may crown his head. 

Whose leaves are bright with crimson stain, 
He is as nobly, grandly dead 

As he who counts his thousands slain ; 
A martyr meeting martyr's doom 

With love and faith to cheer the gloom. 
Obtrusive thoughts of widowed wives. 

Of homeless orphans, — such through him, - 
Crowd not our minds, but rescued lives 

With grateful tears the eye may dim, — 
Such tears as surely wash away 

The stains that tarnish mortal clay. 

No battle-cloud obscured his gaze. 
Hiding from consciousness his fate ; 

Death came not with a sharp amaze, 
'T was his to watch him and to wait. 

Duty forbade his feet to fly 

Although to stay was but to die. 



27 

A soldier worthy of the name, 
A hero welcoming his death, 

Few ever earned a purer fame, 
None ever wore a fairer wreath. 



JOHN HODGES, JR., 

Private 8th Mass. Vol. Infantry, Co. I, April 17 to August i, 1861 ; 
First Lieutenant 19th Mass. Vols., August 27, 1861 ; Captain, 
June 19, 1862 ; Major 50th Mass. Vols., November 8, 1862 ; Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel 59th Mass. Vols., February 7, 1864; killed at 
Petersburg, Va., July 30, 1864. 

A BRIGHT young face beneath a soldier's crest 

To you and me ; 
A brave young heart in a young warrior's breast 

To you and me ; 
One drop of many in the steel-tipped tide, 
Whose waves rolled southward, to the world beside. 

A fearless stripling during war's wild storm 

To you and me ; 
A man's keen courage in his boyish form 

To you and me ; 
Merely a soldier to the world's cold eye. 
Like countless others, only paid to die. 



28 

Part of our hearts had gone with him afield 

From you and me ; 
Part of ourselves was covered by his shield 

To you and me ; 
The world that watched that fire-fringed line of blue 
Felt not the dread our trembling friendship knew. 

Our pride in him was wedded to our fears 

By you and me ; 
The smile of hope shone through a mist of tears 

For you and me ; 
We felt, the world but saw and never knew, 
That he to us was all that line of blue. 

When that blue wave broke on the rocks of gray, 

For you and me 
A solemn awe upon the soul did lay ; 

To you and me 
Each breath came thick with mingled hope and dread 
To miss or find his name among the dead. 

Hope conquered fear as many a list was read 

By you and me ; 
We breathed once more, the word of doom unsaid 

To you and me ; 
For many thousands of the world beside 
Fears grew to facts, and love-born hopes had died. 



29 

Their dear ones fallen brought no numbing grief 

To you and me ; 
They wept ; we joyed ; the record found relief 

For you and me. 
Alas ! we too seemed cold to many a heart 
That mourned its dead, of that blue line a part. 

There came at last an end to hopes and fears 

To you and me, 
Loud shouts of triumph seemed to mock the tears 

To you and me ; 
Death's ruthless dart had pierced our hero's shield, 
And half ourselves lay dead with him afield. 

Then spoke the lesson of this mortal life 

To you and me ; 
Death said, " Man's ills with mankind's good are rife," 

To you and me ; 
We bowed ourselves above the loved and dead, 
And tried to feel as true what Death had said. 



30 



CHARLES H. EMERSON, 

Private 2d Mass. Vol. Infantry ; killed by a shot from a window 
while his regiment was passing through Winchester, May, 1862. 

Ride ! ride ! ride ! 

Ye who are mounted, away ! 
For the foe press hard on every side ; 
Away ! and check the coming tide 

As long as ye can or may. 
Sweep back through Strasburg's street. 

Ride fast as spur can urge. 
Let swords be bare and steeds be fleet, 
And hearts be stout, hands firm to meet 

The war tide's backward surge. 

The foe that fled amain 

Has turned from his southward flight. 
Front Royal's streets are his again. 
Where gallant Kenly strove in vain, 

But fought a glorious fight. 
Let bugle-blast ring out ! 

Press forward every gun ! 
Their answering roar must drown the shout 
Of foemen yelling o'er the rout 

Of Kenly, ten to one. 



31 

Fast, fast the squadrons ride, 

Each battery flashes past ; 
Their reins are loose, each horse's side 
Is foam-flecked ; every spur is dyed 

With blood, they prick so fast. 
From front and flank and rear 

The sounds of battle rise, 
For Stonewall Jackson's men are here 
To urge again a swift career 

Of vengeance and reprise. 

And Ewell's army swells 

Their ranks with swart-faced troops, 
Who from their mountains rush with yells 
Like those whose high-pitched clamor tells 

Where mountain eagle swoops. 
Jackson had fought and fled 

From the path of his following foe. 
And the patient faith of the men he led 
Had waited and watched till his lips had said, 

" Up, men, and strike your blow." 

Front Royal's streets were red, 

And the Shenandoah's stream 
Bore northward on its waves the dead, 
While cheated ravens overhead, 

In angry circles scream. 



32 

Their blow was struck and the race 

For Winchester began, 
The valley's key and master place 
Lying within the wide embrace 

Of hills which southward ran. 

On and on and on 

The close-ranked columns pour, 
In ceaseless march till the town was won 
And the fearful battle-race was done 

And the trial of speed was o'er. 
The rearguard halt and stack 

Their arms in the grateful glare 
Of fires that mark the bivouac. 
And make the darkness of night more black, 

Where their wavering streamers flare. 

The warmth and light of their blaze 

Gave promise of safety and rest ; 
The struggle and fight of the awful days 
Had brought the anxious fear that weighs 

On the bravest, truest breast. 
But now that fear was past. 

The weary race was o'er. 
They had fought their way to the valley at last, 
Outmarched the troops by Jackson massed 

On the banks of the Shenandoah. 



33 

Ere the dawn of day was come, 

They are called to battle again 
By bugle-blast and roll of drum, 
And the fire of pickets lately dumb 

Re-echoes o'er the plain. 
In stern and slow retreat 

They move from out the town. 
And each dark, sullen face they meet 
Their war-worn column seems to greet 

With hostile sneer and frown. 

Ah, War ! you cherish and feed 

Man's passions when wildest and worst, 
And sanction many a fearful deed 
That else had earned foul murder's meed. 

By God and man accursed. 
A coward hate inspired 

And nerved the unseen foe, 
Whose dastard shot from window fired 
Was aimed by one whose heart aspired 

To bravo's fame and blow. 
He who had fought so well 

On the banks of the Shenandoah, 
Of whose soldier worth his comrades tell. 
By that assassin's foul shot fell, 

To fight for his flag no more. 



34 

Although he lived a life to fame unknown, 

A man of patient toil and modest worth, 
He filled his day with virtue that alone 

Needs not the varnish of high rank or birth ; 
But if the quiet tenor of his life 

Kept on its even way so free from pride, — 
When war's hoarse summons waked our land to strife, 

Man's courage challenged and man's true worth 
tried. 
He claimed his share of honor, and to earn it died. 



35 



NATHANIEL SALTONSTALL BARSTOW, 

Second Lieutenant 24th Mass. Vol. Infantry, September 2, 1861 • 
First Lieutenant, December 28, 1862; died at Nevvbern, N. C ' 
May 22, 1864. 

The needs of war demand 
The quick of brain and eye, 

The firm of heart and hand, 
Who will not fear to die. 
Alas ! the best of such 

As make a nation great 
Must fill the greedy clutch 

Of a war for a nation's fate. 
The best and bravest must go, 

The bravest and best must die, 
The brightest blood of the State must flow 

As the fateful storm sweeps by ; 
Or fell disease awaits 

On care, privation, and toil, 
The terrible scourge that war creates 
Comes from the blood-stained soil. 
Alas ! that such as he 

Must feed the flames of war. 
That have ravaged the land so fearfully 
And left such a lasting scar. 



36 

Why waves that red flag from the fort 

Across the sluggish river ? 
What means that sudden, loud report, 

To which its dark waves shiver ? 
What rends the canvas of the tents. 

What hisses through the air ? 
What splinters casements and indents 

All that it cannot tear ? 
Read from the flag that moves so fast 

In the strong young hands that hold it 
The stirring story of our past 

As its " speaking silence " told it. 



" Surprised, we cannot hold the fort. 

The fire sweeps all before it " : 
Such was that waving flag's report 

As the hissing bullets tore it. 
Still waves the flag, still braves the storm 

Of missiles, he who held it 
Until its message can inform 

The eyes of those who spelled it. 
" The fort is lost," that red flag said 

Through all the roar and rattle ; 
" Except you give us instant aid 

The foe must win the battle." 



37 

The slight form held a dauntless heart, 

While the bursting shells were screaming, 
And the shot still tore the folds apart 

Of the bright flag round him streaming. 
And till from Newbern answering flags 

Told that stout help was coming, 
The brave hand waved the crimson rags, 

Heedless of bullets humming. 

The fever demon crept 

From his hot and slimy bed, 
Where the deadly mist of the swamp-rose slept. 

Where the gray moss hung o'erhead ; 
And swooped on the cities of men 

That had grown near his foul retreat, 
And raged with the strength of a giant when 

He had gained the crowded street. 



Jd' 



Among the first to meet 

The demon on his path. 
Life withered away before the heat 

Of the monster's fever wrath ; 
And he sleeps the soldier's sleep 

On the banks of the sluggish Neuse, 
That drain the swamps where foul things creep 

And the long gray moss hangs loose. 



38 



GEORGE W. BATCHELDER, 

Sergeant Co. I, 8tli Mass. Vol. Infantry, April i8 to August i, 1861 ; 
First Lieutenant, 19th Mass. Vols., August 22, 1861 ; Captain, 
March 21, 1862 ; killed at Antietam, Va., September 17, 1862. 

Antietam ! as thy waters gleam 

Beneath thy steep banks crowned with willows, 
And prattle past the rocks thy stream 

Now chafes, now crowns with mimic billows, 
What sing they as they laugh along 

Where golden sunlight peeps to gild them .'* 
What chant they in their sadder song 

When from the sun thy high banks shield them ? 
Laugh they to see the tasselled corn 

Toss in the breeze that sings with thee, 
And loads thy wave with red leaves torn 

From branches of fruit-laden tree ? 
And change they to a graver tone 

Where shadows make their blue seem gray, 
As they recall the shout and groan 

That drowned their voice one awful day } 
Is it to tell the bended trees 

Of what thy startled stream has known, 
That they those long, lithe fingers seize 

And whisper to them thus and moan ^ 



39 

Do they whisper a tale of a fair-haired boy, 

A leader so young of bearded men, 
Whose shoulders were broad for a man's employ. 

Though his years were scarce twice ten ? 
Do they tell of the flickering camp-fire's gleam 

In an autumn years ago, 
That lit the waves of thy restless stream 

With its uncertain glow ? 
Do they whisper that, as the strong men slept 

When the darkness of night had come. 
The fair-haired captain vigil kept 

'Mid thoughts of his far-off home. 
And prayed to his God for strength to do 

The duty that waited him there, 
And mingled the names of those that he knew 

Were praying for him, in his prayer? 
Are they hoarse as they speak of the hideous din 

That woke with the morrow's light, 
Of yells and shrieks that seemed akin 

To voices of demons in fight ? 
Do they sigh as they speak of the still white face 

That lay on the trampled corn, 
Among others as white in that bloody place, 

Of a harvest so forlorn ? 
Do they moan as they ask of the willow-tree 

Why such as he should die. 



40 

And impatiently fling its fingers free 
When a moan is the sole reply ? 

Thy waves, Antietam, hurrying past 

To an absorbing sea, 
Ask what all human hearts have asked 

And asked as uselessly. 
They find their life's end in a tide 

Which swallows every river ; 
Man too God's own good time must bide, 

And question on forever. 



CHARLES BATCHELDER, 

Private Co. I, 8th Mass. Vol. Infantry, April 17 to August i, 1861 ; 
First Lieutenant Mass. Unattached Cavalry ; died at New Or- 
leans, La,, of yellow fever. 

Where the yellow Mississippi pours 

Its vast flood toward the sea, 
And threatens with its tide the shores 

Where mourns the cypress-tree ; 
Where sits the city of the South 
And watches at the river's mouth 

The waters rolling ceaselessly, — 
There by that river broad and deep 



41 

He closed his eyes in dreamless sleep, 
To waken in eternity. 



Life's stream for him was full and wide, 

And sweeping on with even flow ; 
The morning sun shone o'er its tide 

And tinged the future with its glow ; 
Its rays in ripples o'er the stream 
Made the banks golden with the gleam 

Reflected from below ; 
His fair young bark was swaying light 
Upon the waters sparkling bright, 

And dancing to and fro. 



That bark was freighted with the hopes 

That wait upon the young and brave. 
And knew the buoyant strength that copes 

With every threatening wave. 
It swept along the broadening tide 
On which so many vessels glide. 

To the same end, — the grave ; 
The sails were purple in the light 
That blessed in affluence our sight. 

Rejoicing as it gave. 



42 

When from the cloud the Hghtning burst, 

And ties which made a nation's Ufe 
Were shrivelled in the blast, the worst 

Of human passions woke to strife ; 
The stream which seemed so fair before 
Now madly surged from shore to shore 

With wildest terrors rife ; 
Faint-hearted voyagers fled the gale, 
Which bent the mast and strained the sail, 

In craven fear for life. 

For those he loved he braved the blast. 

For home and those who gathered there ; 
His country's colors graced the mast, 

And floated on the war-vexed air ; 
And a fair city of the North, 
From which the gallant bark set forth 

Upon that threatening tide, 
Traced anxiously that onward course, 
Where all around the breakers hoarse 

To thundering wave replied. 

• ••••* 

The city by the rock-bound shore. 
Where the straight pine grows tall. 

That listens to the ocean's roar 
And hears the sea-bird's call. 



43 

Looked toward the city of the South 
That watches by the river's mouth 

The waters rolHng ceaselessly, 
And saw his noble life's bark sink 
There by the yellow river's brink, 

Where mourns the cypress-tree. 



PICKERING DODGE ALLEN, 

Mustered into service as Second Lieutenant Cavalry, December 27, 
1861 ; commissioned as Second Lieutenant Captain Read's Co., 
Mass. Unattached Cavalry, August 18, 1862 ; First Lieutenant, 
January i, 1862; First Lieutenant and Aide-de-Camp, General 
Weitzel's Staff, September, 1862 ; wounded and taken prisoner, 
March 28, 1863; died of fever brought on by too early return to 
duty, at Brashear City, La., June 2, 1863. 

Mute are those lips of mortal mould, 

Stilled by the icy touch of death, 
And frozen, till they seem to hold 

In marble prison undrawn breath. 
His eye shall flash no glance of fire 

To rally fainting men again, 
His tongue no faltering hearts inspire 

With power that knows not coward stain ; 
The youthful form has passed away, 
Returned to dust in God's own day. 



44 

Those silent lips so pure and white 

Speak yet, though sound is banished thence, 
And touch the inmost soul in spite 

Of death's all-dread omnipotence. 
The pause that conquering hand has made 

Is far more eloquent than speech, 
And deeper far the thought conveyed 

Than any living tongue can reach. 
That silence to our earthly sense 
Death fills with deathless eloquence. 

The earnest sense of modest worth, 

Where courage treads on duty's heel, 
Forbade those lips in life give birth 

To that which they must now reveal, — 
That he had learned from other lives 

The Christian value of his own. 
Imbibed the faith in God which hives 

The truest lore which man has known. 
Which high above the world's applause 
Brought him to die for noblest cause. 

The lips of others were set wide 

To boast of deeds which they had done ; 

His, firmly closed in honest pride, 
Asked only scope for nobler one. 



45 

His glowing past would not suffice 
To purchase for him future ease, 

The sphere of duty in his eyes 
Widened with the emergencies. 

The world is wiser since he died 

By all his proffered life implied. 

He laid aside the gift of wealth, 

The boon received with honored name ; 
The deeds achieved almost " by stealth," 

He did not live to " find them fame." 
But we who have the record kept. 

Of all he did and all he meant, 
Would have the world with joy accept 

Each action and each high intent. 
And keep his memory with the flowers, 
That bloom o'er him who still is ours. 



46 



CHARLES A. DEARBORN, JR., 

Private Co. I, 8th Mass. Vol. Infantry, April 17 to August i, 1861 ; 
First Lieutenant 32d Mass. Vol. Infantry, November 14, 1861 ; 
Captain, August 14, 1862 ; killed at Fredericksburg, Va., Decem- 
ber 13, 1862. 

Ye anxious ones who bend your knees in prayer. 

And ask with quivering lips the God above 
To guard his pathway with a father's care, 

And spare for you the Hfe of him you love, — 
Fond, troubled hearts ! wouldst follow with your eyes 

The path in which your darling treads to-day, 
And know if nobly lives or bravely dies 

Your gallant boy whom duty called away ? 
Then look ! but close your throbbing hearts to fear 

Lest your pale cheeks should grow more deathly 
pale, 
For sights and sounds will rise on eye and ear 
To fright your souls as Distance drops her veil. 

Those beetling banks are steep and high. 
And far below wide spreads the stream, 

Whose waves, uncurbed by bridges, fly 
Past tottering pier and fire-charred beam, 

Where once high arches spanned its flood. 

And shadowing its blue waters stood. 



47 

Huge, black, and wide-mouthed, on the verge 
Of that high bank, grim cannon frown, 

And roar across the waves that surge 
Against the farther shore and town, — 

The town whose shattered houses tell 

Of ruin wrought by shot and shell. 

Look ! past the town, upon the plain, 
Blue masses of our troops are lying. 

And listening to the shrieks of pain 

That reach their ears from comrades dying, — 

The pains no pitying hand may ease, 

The worst of war's wild honors these. 

• • • • • • 

They lie just where the plain has swelled 

To hills whose crests entrenchments crown, - 

Those steep and bristling heights are held 
By Southern soldiers swart and brown, 

Who shower a fiery vengeance down 

On those who dared to storm their town. 

When next those war-thinned ranks shall move 
To struggle up the blood-stained hills. 

Death's harvest will the larger prove. 
For rage that every fierce heart fills. 

That scathing flame, hate's murderous fire, 

Shall pile the heaps of slain still higher. 



48 

God knows the hosts already dead 

Are awful sacrifice to war ; 
But the vengeful foe an oath has said, 

It shall be costlier by far ; 
He swears the tide of blood shall sweep 
Broad as his river and as deep. 

One of the swords that flash and shine 
Amid that war-cloud's sulphurous reek, 

And point the way for wavering line, 
Is grasped by him you vainly seek. 

Your gaze must fail to pierce the smoke 

That o'er the battle's front has broke. 

Your eyes are filling and your cheeks grow pale. 

Your spirits quail as still you gaze and fear, 
Your trembling hands would draw again the veil 

And hide the horrors that are all too near. 
With heavier hearts ye bow yourselves to pray 

That death may spare your battle-perilled son. 
And school your lips, that falter so, to say, 

" Not ours, O Father, but thy will be done ! " 



49 



CALVIN H. CLEAVES, 

Enlisted at the age of fifteen years. One of the few privates who re- 
ceived a medal for distinguished bravery and faithful service ; was 
highly complimented in a letter from his commanding general. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

Thy green grave is blooming 
With the flowers that affection has strewed on thy 
breast ; 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

Our sad hearts resuming 
The burden of life, leave you here to your rest. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

Why should we weep 
That thou wilt not know the cold shadows that creep 
Over mortals who toil toward life's faith-brightened 

west, 
Whence open the gates to the realms of the blest ? 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 
Thy life service ended. 
By your firm foot no longer earth's toil-ways are trod. 
Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 
The grasses, wind-bended, 
4 



so 

Are whispering softly above the green sod, 

" Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

Why do ye. weep 
Who have brought us your young hero's body to 

keep ? 
'T is but dust of the earth where we rustle and nod ; 
The soul of your hero is resting with God." 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

There lies on your breast 
A nation's avowal of deeds nobly done. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

Thy broad scars attest 
That the nation but gave what thy gallantry won. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

Tear-drops will creep 
Adown the pale cheeks of the mourners who weep 
Where the tall grasses whisper and wave in the sun, 
Bidding Faith see in Death but a new life begun. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 
From the threshold of life 
Thou hast stepped to the bourne whither ail life is 
tending ; 
Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 
The wearisome strife 



51 

For the needs of this world thou art spared in life's 
ending. 
Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 
Well may we weep 
For ourselves, not for thee, whose duty-spurred leap 
Spanned the grave where the wind-shaken grasses 

are bending, 
To find a new life, thy bright earth-youth transcend- 
ing. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

Thy life-service ended, 
Young, honored, and loved, thou hast gone to thy 
rest. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

The grasses, wind-bended, 
Are wet with our tears that will not be represt. 

Sleep, soldier, sleep ; 

We say as we weep, 
" We have brought you our young hero's body to 

keep ; 
'T is but dust of the earth where you rustle and nod. 
The soul, our young hero, is living with God." 



52 



WILDER DWIGHT, 

Major 2d Mass. Vol. Infantry, May 24, 1S61 ; Lieutenant-Colonel, 
June 13, 1862; died September 19, 1862, of wounds received at 
Antietam, Va., September 17, 1862. 

Along thy banks, upon thy plain, 

The ghastly faces of the dead. 
Yet ghastlier from the dark red stain 
Of blood that their own veins have shed, 
Stare, wide-eyed, waiting for a grave, 
Antietam, by thy murmuring wave. 
Along thy banks, upon thy plain. 

In earnest search, with cautious tread, 
And listening for the groan of pain 

To guide them through the white-faced dead. 
The victors by thy murmuring wave 
Each wounded soldier seek and save. 
Along thy bank, upon thy plain, 
The cheer for victory has died, 
And gentle hands lay down the slain, 
Victor and vanquished, side by side. 
And sadly shape for both a grave, 
Antietam, by thy murmuring wave. 
Along thy banks, upon thy plain. 

The conquerors o'er the conquered bend. 



53 

And seek alike to soothe the pain 

And bind the wounds of foe and friend, 
And triumph twice beside thy wave, 
Antietam, as they stoop to save. 

In that great harvest reaped by Death 

Along thy banks, upon thy plain, 
Among the tares there ripeneth 

Full many a shock of golden grain, — 
Seed garnered on that bloody field, 
A priceless future good to yield. 
Where solemn duty draws the blade 

That must protect the common weal, 
Honor and conscience both obeyed. 

The Christian grasps the proffered steel ; 
The Christian soldier prays for peace, 
The soldier Christian strikes in war 
His stoutest blows that war may cease 
The sooner ; for the constant law 
Of human strife demands that he 
Must conquer peace, ere peace can be. 

Along thy banks, upon thy plain. 

Another army camps to-day, 
And marshals the slow-moving train 

That brings the wounded from the fray. 



54 

Though born of war, it bears the shield 
Of love and mercy on the field ; 
And war, with all its weight of woe, 
Has softened hearts unapt to feel. 
And bid a tide of mercy flow 

To bind the wounds its sword must deal, 
Enlarged a nation's gentler sense 
By giving suffering eloquence. 



Thy waves have heard the whispered tones 

Of Christian soldier dying fast, 
Low but distinct, and free from moans 
For loss of life, so nearly past. 

And almost deemed him to rejoice 
In death, when listening to his voice : 
" I would not have my doom unsaid, 

I grudge not Death the life he takes ; 
But ere I 'm numbered with the dead. 
My parents, for their own dear sakes, 
My mother, she who loved me so, 
I fain would see before I go. 
Bend lower, chaplain, hear me say, 

I trust the God I 've tried to serve, 
To whom she taught me how to pray, 
From whom I 've struggled to deserve 



55 

Thus much at least , — to be forgiven 
My sins on earth ; and that is heaven. 
And tell my comrades, thus to die 

Brings to my soul but one regret, 
That they may further serve, but I — 
My day is past, my sun is set. 
My stricken lips can hardly tell 
What I would say ; bid them farewell." 

Along thy banks, upon thy plain, 

Our noblest and our best have died. 
And let thy waves in endless strain 
Tell the sad story as they glide. 
But teach them also to confess 
Man conquered there man's selfishness. 
Antietam, bid them see how love 

And faith have won the victory here ; 
How faith claims heritage above. 
And perfect love has cast out fear. 
Even heaven itself has had its war, 
When angels fought with Lucifer. 



56 



HOWARD DWIGHT, 

First Lieutenant 24th Mass, Vols., September i, 1861 ; First Lieu- 
tenant 4th Missouri Cavalry, October 4, 1861 ; Captain, September 
4, 1862 ; Captain and A. A. G. (U. S. Vols.), November 10, 1862 ; 
killed by guerillas, Bayou Boeuf, La., May 4, 1863. 

The black, still waters of the dark Bayou 
Slept in the quiet of its sunless gloom ; 

Along its marge the moss-draped cypress threw 
Its ghastly arms, bare of all leaf or bloom. 

Above the waters dense with slime and ooze. 
Deadly miasma gray and wavering crept, 

And steeped the vines that from the trees hung loose. 
While o'er the sweltering earth the light breeze 
swept. 

The boding cry of raven met the ear, 

And noise of reptiles wallowing in the flood ; 

The startled serpent's hiss of angry fear 
Told of its track across the unctuous mud. 

The swamp-fox, frightened by the clash of arms. 
Has fled in terror to its darksome den ; 

A moving army's various noise alarms 

The Bayou's depths with tramp of marching men. 



57 

Along the road that vibrates to their wheels, 
War's heavier engines rumble on their way ; 

The light reflected from the arms reveals 
The moving mass of infantry array. 

Like a gray arras, trembling to the breeze, 
The drooping moss conceals the watchful foe, 

Who skulk and wait in sullen hate to seize 

Fit chance to deal their vengeance-prompted blow. 

The rapid footfall of a hurrying steed 

Falls on each ear attentive to the sound ; 

The fierce eyes glare ; for in a stern dark creed 
A noble object for their hate is found. 

A gallant horseman finds a devious way 

Through crowded columns that move slowly on, 

Making such progress as bold rider may 
'Mid serried files, till a free path is won. 

A sudden challenge stops his eager course, 
A cry to halt ; he reins his panting steed ; 

His calm, cool answer to the summons hoarse 
Makes fearless martyr to a coward deed. 



»* 



58 

One short hour since in opening manhood strong, 
Well tried in service, active, wise, and brave, 

Tireless in duty, honored, trusted, young, 
Now basely murdered, waiting for a grave. 

The advancing column makes but halting way. 
The wild guerillas through the swamp have fled. 

And the brave victim, neath the moss-pall gray 
Stays for his comrades' coming, still and dead. 

Rough soldiers stoop to raise with gentle touch 
The hfeless body from its bed of reeds, 

Dismayed to find it his they loved so much, 

The well-proved leader, known for daring deeds. 
. . • • • • • 

O dusky mourners of the Southern land. 

Who watched the North in mingled hope and fear, 

'T was your fond task to strew with grateful hand 
Fresh leaves and flowers o'er the young hero's bier. 

O stricken hearts, wailing so far away, 

Ye felt sweet comfort through the weary hours 

In knowing how the well-beloved lay 
'Mid holy consecration of those flowers. 



59 



FRANCIS W. CROWNINSHIELD, 

October i8, Second Lieutenant 2d Regiment Mass. Vol. Infantry ; 
February, 1862, wounded at Winchester ; First Lieutenant, wound- 
ed at Antietam ; Captain, March 3, 1863 ; wounded at Gettysburg ; 
rejoins his regiment ; wounded by guerillas ; with Sherman in his 
march to the sea ; died at Albano, Italy, May, 1866. 

Through Luray's valley, battle lighted 

His sword was flashing in the van ; 
No paladin by monarch knighted, 
To duty's sternest dangers plighted. 
Was braver, since the world began. 

That slender, nervous, blue-eyed boy 

Led full-grown men whose nerves were steel ; 

Drinking his glance they felt strange joy ; 

His young heart knew no base alloy ; 
The glow he felt they learned to feel. 

He smiled as on the field he fell, 

His eyes with zeal were all aflame ; 
He would not let his firm lips tell 
Of the fierce pain they knew so well, 
True to his honor and his name. 



6o 

His fair face wore no shade of fear 
In answer to their pitying eyes ; 
His words were fall of dauntless cheer, 
And the clear ringing voice they hear 
Fills them with proud and deep surprise. 

Two golden bars his shoulders grace 
When next he leads his veterans on, 

Rejoiced to see his bright young face 

Smiling upon them in the place 
His glorious bravery had won. 

Again he shares their risk and toil, 
Again fights foremost of them all ; 

Across Virginia's sacred soil. 

He leads them through war's wild turmoil. 
On Antietam's red field to fall. 

Once more they find him brave to bear 

All that the chance of war may bring ; 
Once more they see him welcome there, 
With pale lips that a proud smile wear. 
The shadow of Azrael's wing. 

Fresh gleam of gold was shining then 
Upon the first so fairly earned ; 



6i 



In higher place he greets his men, 
Whose faith in him is boundless when 
He proves his glorious task well learned. 

When first his sword was given him, 

Like knight of old he made his vow 
To serve the cause with life and limb. 
Till in cold death his eyes grew dim 
Or victory should crown his. brow. 

Across the hills of Maryland, 

All smiling in the summer light, 
The troops were marching to withstand 
The fiercest efforts ever planned 
By victor of full many a fight. 

Again at Gettysburg he led 

His sun-browned soldiers, veterans all ; 
Among the dying and the dead 
With whose warm blood the earth was red, 

He led them, — once again to fall. 

Their captain was with them once more, 
The same brave, patient, dauntless soul, 



62 

When gallant Sherman backward bore 
His beaten foemen to the shore, 

Where the Atlantic's billows roll, — 

Their captain, whom with trusting pride 
They loved as soldiers love the brave, 
A boy in years, a man as tried 
And true as those who fearless died 
Around him, who too risked a grave. 

Beneath Albano's cloudless sky 

He faded, — bravely meeting death 
As when he taught with soul-lit eye 
His men how a brave man could die, 
A soldier win a soldier's wreath. 



63 



" lis sont morts sur le champ d'honneur." 

Such men there are, and such will ever be 

While love of country rules the human heart ; 
Such men as these while this our land is free 

Will for its needs from every hamlet start. 
I might not speak of every glorious name 

That claims a proud position on our roll, 
Nor dwell at length on each immortal claim 

To sweet remembrance by each generous soul, 
For what is said of part, might, should be of the whole. 
My task is done ; the jarring chords unstrung 

Cease to respond to my unpractised touch ; 
If o'er their notes some kindly heart has hung, 

Stirred e'er so little, that to me were much. 




1_1DI\MIX1 VI •^^•■' 



013 703 399 9 ^ 



